Fallen
by The 41st Maguanac
Summary: The angel sinned, and there's no going back on it now. No one can save an unrepentant angel, and now he must return to the Earth once more to offer the life he gave to another. There is only one person who can help him find peace again. 3x4, future lemon.
1. The life he gave away

Fallen

Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue.

Author's Note: Don't worry, I'm still definitely working on my other fics. I just needed something else to start. See how long it takes you to guess who this character at the beginning is before I tell you…

Fallen

By The 41st Magaunac

He was awoken by the clatter of keys in his cell door. It was time.

He had no idea how long he'd lain there, awaiting his fate. It had seemed like an eternity he had been there, his once unblemished pale skin was marked with flecks of dirt, his once sapphire blue eyes dull with fatigue.

This wasn't your average prison. Nothing under the Lord's management was. He had a clean bed in the corner, a little washbasin in the corner, everything he could need. It was like staying in a motel, not in a prison. It was cool, not too hot, and not too warm. He could set the lights however he wished, sleep if he desired.

None of this meant anything though. Not to a condemned man.

It only reminded him of what was outside the walls of the pure white room. He had been in solitary confinement for days… weeks even? He really had not a clue. He couldn't register if time was passing slowly or quickly for him. It felt like it didn't pass at all.

'Interference'. That was what they called it. It wasn't in his job description, he had over stepped the line once again… but why? He had set himself up to lose everything. An eternity in paradise, his wings, his immortality, his soul… and all for what?

For love. For _him_.

The figure by the door paced over to him, helping him to his feet. The soft cobalt eyes the prisoner looked into were full of sorrow; tears flowing freely down the visitor's cheeks. He touched the prisoner gently on his face, kissing his forehead, then blessing him. His visitor then said only two words to him.

"It's time."

The time had come for him to stand before the Lord for the last time. He would be sentenced, and punished on the spot. It would be severe, but this much he expected. Everyone else seemed even sadder about it that he was. He wasn't afraid anymore. He was resigned.

He wasn't tied or cuffed as he was led down the long white corridor. Some of his cellmates looked up as he walked past, some of them nodding to him gently, as though supporting him in his trip into the judgement chambers. He followed behind his visitor, who had his long braid tied with white ribbons to show his rank.

He was walked into the centre of another pure white room. There were people without faces to his left and right, people he could see due to heavy white silk veils they wore. Behind a tall desk, the Lord was seated, a pile of papers on his desk. His dark brown hair was slightly awry on his head, cold Prussian blue eyes watching the intruders carefully.

"Bring him forward," he said in a deep, mellow voice which sounded like music. The braided follower walked behind the accused, pushing him towards where the Lord was sat.

"Here he is, Lord," the chestnut haired youth then proceeded to back away from the accused, as though he were tainted.

"Quatre?"

The blonde prisoner looked up into the face of God, his sapphire eyes gleaming with defiance, "Yes Lord?"

"You are still unrepentant?"

"I stand by what I did, Lord, with my whole heart."

"Then I cannot save you. You do realise this, don't you?" The long braided servant shook his head sadly, more tears of sorrow glittering on his face. "You do not need to see this Duo. You should go."

Quatre watched as the chestnut haired follower left, his face buried in his hands. Poor Duo… he had always been so sensitive. He turned back to the vision before him. "I realise that I cannot be saved Lord."

"Then I have no choice but to issue your final punishment…"

Quatre pulled himself up to his full height, his long white robes draped at his side, hands that were once placid and peaceful bunched up into fists.

"In the name of the Management, I strip you, Quatre Raberba Winner, of all rights to immortality and a future among the Heavens. Your wings shall be shorn; your slate swept clean of all the good you ever did anyone. Memories of your deeds will never be forgotten, and for the rest of your mortal life, you will be plagued by dreams that may one day make you see the error of your ways. As for the life which you returned without authority to the mortal soldier... Your purpose on Earth will be to make the remainder of his days as peaceable as you can. You will no longer be able to register the importance of your own existence. The life you gave, Quatre, was not yours to give, so you must use your own life to make up for the debt you owe. Do you understand?"

"Yes Lord."

"The let it be so. You are no longer our business."

Two figures dressed in silvery robes approached Quatre from behind, and he knew the worst was coming. Of everything, this had been the bit he was dreading.

"Wings," the first one said. Quatre wasn't even sure if they had names he could have called them by.

He lifted the almost transparent snow-white wings from where they had been resting against his back.

"Spread," the second voice said.

Quatre obliged, lifting the pretty, feathered angel wings and spreading them out as far as they would reach.

There was a tearing sound. One each of the men had grabbed either wing and ripped downwards, shattering his ethereal image with a heart-wrenching shudder of agony that jolted through his body. The pure white robes he wore were suddenly stained with blood… his own blood. He had never seen it before, and looked at it with a sense of wonder as his head began to spin as the delicate wonders were ripped off his back entirely. A feeling of loss overwhelmed him, incredible sorrow like he had never experience.

The Lord had looked away.

He felt himself being lifted up and tossed through oceans and oceans of clouds, the wind rushing past his ears as he saw the world beneath him, full, green and lush with life.

With aching slowness, he plummeted through the pale blue sky, the sun rising just to his right, casting beautiful pink sparkles across the vastness of the darker blue eternity of the sea which was now beneath him.

An icy abyss and unconsciousness came welcome to him, the pain subsiding as nothingness replaced it.

***

To Be Continued.


	2. Tears of An Angel

Fallen

Disclaimer: See previous.

Thanks: To my reviewers, everyone with anything of mine of a favourites list, to my muses, and everyone who inspires me.

Fallen

By The 41st Magaunac

"And I brought you some grapes in case you get hungry… a few books for when you get bored from staring out of that window of yours, I brought you an extra blanket, because I know how thin these little hospital sheets are, an extra sweater, some of those little candies you really like…"

"Cathy, I'm not going to be able to move under all this," said Trowa, smiling slightly as his sister loaded him down with gifts.

"Now, don't you worry about a thing," Catherine replied at though she hadn't heard him, "I'll sort out everything with the doctors to make sure they're taking care of you properly, make sure to eat all your greens and keep your liquids up…"

"Cathy! I'm not 10 years old anymore, I'm 19 and I can take care of myself."

"No, you listen to me, Trowa Barton!" retorted Cathy, tossing her auburn curls, "You're going to start taking care of yourself! I won't lose you again, I just can't…" She suppressed a couple of tears, and her younger brother looked up at her compassionately.

"It's okay Catherine, I'm alive, aren't I?"

"The doctors said that you were as good as dead Trowa… they were amazed they were able to save your life after your heart stopped… they nearly couldn't bring you back… you'd lost so much blood. A miracle, said the doctor, a real miracle…" Cathy knelt beside Trowa's bed and took his hand in her own, "Don't ever leave me, Trowa. Next time you may not be so lucky."

Trowa had to admit it had been amazing he'd survived. He'd received 6 bullet wounds all around his chest, puncturing his lungs and just barely missing his heart. He was found a few hours later, and technically he should have bled to death… anyone else would have.

He had been rushed to the nearest hospital where 3 surgeons had spent a number of hours repairing the damage. His heart had stopped during surgery, but the doctors had managed to bring him back, though the doctors had doubted his survival. All the same, here he was, conscious again, dosed up with painkillers, and lying in his spotless hospital bed with his doting sister fluffing his pillows again.

"Now, if you need anything at all," continued Cathy, having come out of her emotional state and coming back to business, "You can reach the circus on the Manager's phone, or call my mobile, or you can reach me on my pager…"

"Cathy!"

The redhead kissed her brother on the cheek and smiled at his lovingly, "Just focus on getting better okay? And don't even think about returning to the army until you're in perfect condition!" She smiled again, nodded to the approaching doctor and then disappeared down the corridor.

Trowa rolled his eyes hopelessly and went back to staring out of the window, something he had been doing for the majority of his waking hours since he regained consciousness. Not even he was sure how he'd survived… but he knew he hadn't been alone. Someone had been there, a presence, an aura of someone. He'd felt it before he blacked out. It was this same person who, in his delirium of pain, had carried him out so he could be found by the medics. He had wrapped a soft, feathery blanket around him which had seemed to stop his blood loss a little.

And he'd cried. This person… whoever he was, had wept bitterly over him. He had felt the tears, warm and gentle on his tunic, and his name mentioned over and over…

He hadn't mentioned his vision to anyone. He was a soldier, he wasn't meant to believe in all that… he had lost faith in God a long time ago. He had only caught a glimpse of that sweet, angelic face, but now it haunted him when he slept sometimes… like a ghost.

He was awoken from his daydream as a doctor arrived at his bedside to check his drips and that he was comfortable.

"Ahh, the miracle-man," he said as he handed Trowa his dosage of painkillers. He then examined the thick bandages and made a few notes on his clipboard. "You're doing remarkably well," he said. "It should only be a week or two until you're fit to return home, Mr. Barton."

Trowa nodded mutely, looking over as a pair of male nurses wheeled in my new roommate. The last one had unfortunately died before Trowa had awoken from his comatose state, and he had had the room to himself for the better part of the week.

His new roommate seemed to be covered in even more drips than he was. Blonde hair could be seen poking out from gaps in his bandages and it appeared he had just come out of surgery from the bandages around his chest being still stained with a little blood. The nurse handed the new patient's clipboard to the doctor by Trowa's bed.

"Oh, this one…" he said thoughtfully, pulling out his biro and walking over to the bed next to mine, "I've still never seen anything quite like this… have you managed to get hold of any family yet?"

"Not yet, but we're still trying. We've taken fingerprints, and we're running them through every system we have to try and find someone. As to where he came from… that's anyone's guess."

"Just washed up on the beach… we thought maybe a shipwreck," spoke up the other nurse, "But the ocean has been very calm recently, and that doesn't explain the two massive wounds near the top of his spine."

The doctor checked the new patient's oxygen supply and adjusted his facemask slightly. "Well, the surgeons have done all they can. We'll track down those relatives, see if there's anything in his Will that mentions whether we should keep him alive like this, or let him die." he turned back to Trowa with a slight smile, "At least your roommate will be a quiet one, Mr. Barton," he said, but there was no real humour in it.

Trowa watched as the doctor and nurses left, and then took a moment to take in the features of the new patient. He wondered what his name was and whether he'd ever wake up. He had pretty, almost girlishly beautiful features, and Trowa found himself smiling at the new arrival despite himself.

He leant back against his pillows, still watching the peacefully slumbering face until the morphine in his painkillers eased him into a dreamless sleep. 

***

To Be Continued.


	3. Fresh Wounds

Fallen

Disclaimer: I don't own it, don't sue.

Notes: Once again, I thank all my loyal reviewers, I love you guys, and my charming muses and my buddy Hex.

Fallen

By The 41st Maguanac

Quatre's sleep was far from dreamless. He couldn't count the dozens of times he had had to relive the separation of his wings, the tearing, the blood – oceans of it, which seemed to choke him until he couldn't breathe, it's bitter taste and smell clouding his senses.

He was like a record, stuck in a groove. He went around and around, over the events again and again, but every time, though his heart ached and his chest felt as though it were caving in on itself, and yet… he always made the same decision. He'd hear that voice calling in his head, calling for someone… calling for help.

And he ran. Every time he ran, yet the moment he reached the source of the voice he'd feel a wretched burning course through his back…

Then it all went around again.

***

Trowa was awoken by a sudden sound a few metres from his head. Through reflex he tried to sit up to fast, wincing at the pain which wrenched his chest when he tried to do so. It was late evening; maybe even night… he had no idea how long he'd been sleeping.

He heard it again – a piteous cry from his room mate which caused hi to turn his head to one side, watching as the once comatose boy in the bed beside him thrashed in his sleep. Too much sleep and painkillers seemed to have rotted his brain, and for a moment he just lay there, watching the blonde as he almost brought himself entirely off the bed, arching his back in a way he had only ever seen contortionists at Catherine's circus do it.

"Hey…" mumbled Trowa, easing himself more upright slowly so as not to injure himself again, "Hey, c'mon, wake up!"

Quatre was too many miles away to hear Trowa's calls. Faceless silver clad men surrounded him on all sides, people were laughing, jeering at him… He could see those cold blue eyes again, sentencing him, Duo's crystalline tears as they fell from his eyes.

They closed in on him, more and more tightly until he was sure he'd asphyxiate, he pleaded with them, begged them over and over to let him keep his wings, but it was as though no one heard him. Icy gazes rested on him blankly, his wings crumbled before his eyes even as he tried to touch them…

The blonde patient threw his head back against the pillows, an anguished scream emerging from his throat, which seemed to tear at the very wounds on Trowa's chest. He rested his hands on them, leaning over to try and still the pulsating pain, but nothing seemed to help. //W-what the Hell is happening to me?// It was like he'd been shot again, his wounds felt almost fresh. Breathless with agony, he brought his hand down, slamming it on the bedside table and upsetting a glass of water, causing it to shatter on the floor.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes tightly against the needle like splinters tearing at his chest, he shifted himself to the edge of the bed, dropping on to his hands and knees amongst the little glass shards.

The blonde screamed again in his sleep, tears resulting from his unknown angst trailing down his cheeks even as he dreamt.

The scream skewered its way through Trowa's psyche, dropping on him the full force of years of emotions he'd tried to hide. It was like having his true self revealed to him, to be able to look in a mirror and see all the truths about himself. He didn't want to see… he didn't want to look anymore.

"SHUT UP!!" he roared, covering his ears, "STOP IT!!"

They were taking his wings again… he felt the same strong hands gripping them, those beautiful dove's wings, the only thing he truly treasure… they were tearing, blood scorching its way down his back in rivers. It was as though the wings were rooted in his heart, and the harder they were pulled, the more his chest ached… his entire body ached.

"Please!!" he pleaded in his sleep, "Please don't! I'll give anything, do anything b-but no!" he sobbed pathetically, his crying breathless and hysterical.

Trowa flung back his head before launching himself on to the blonde's bed, his chest in excruciating pain which his body could not even determine anymore. He wrapped his arms around the pale boys shoulders, pulling him more upright, burying his face against his neck. "No more… please no more…" he murmured repeatedly.

There was a voice in the chaos. A calm voice, a sweet voice which seemed to know his name though it didn't speak it. He looked up into the sky, his legs soaked in his own blood, the taunting voices seeming to get further away. He forced himself to jump for the light, feeling weightless even without his wings.

A pair of aquamarine eyes fluttered open, moist from tears, drips tattered against his arms where he'd dislodged them. He recognised the green orbs before him immediately, his heart jumping into his throat. 

"TROWA!" he yelled, wrapping his arms tightly around the other young man, burying his face in his hospital robe clad chest, breathing in his sweet earthy scent. Oh, how he had missed it… everything about Trowa.

It was gone. Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain had vanished again, leaving no trace except for a dull ache that was already vacating his chest.

"Wh-wh… how do you know my name?" mumbled Trowa as he looked up at the blonde, laying a hand on his chest. He certainly didn't seem familiar…

//He doesn't know how I am… how could I expect him to? We never even spoke…// "I… I…" the blonde mumbled, "I can't explain right now… I'm sorry," he said as the fingers of sleep began to wrap him up again. He looked up at Trowa panic stricken, "Please, I don't want to!" he pleaded, "Don't let me sleep, I don't want to dream… not again…"

"Shh…" Trowa felt as though he had done this a thousand times before. It went entirely against his nature, about everything he believed, but he found himself wrapping his strong arms about the little sobbing blonde, pulling him against his chest, a protective hand covering the soft blonde hair. "It's… It's all right. You're safe now."

"Don't forget me Trowa…" the young man mumbled, resting uneasily against Trowa's chest until his breathing became steadier, his face pressed against Trowa's neck as he cradled him.

The doctor arrived moments later. "I heard a commotion, is everything all right in here?" he asked quickly, taking in the situation in the room immediately, "Trowa, why on Earth are you out of bed?!" he chided.

"He needed me…" was Trowa's soft reply. "He was crying…"

"Come come, back to bed miracle man. Let the doctors do their jobs and go back to bed… he seems to be all right now," he said, referring to the now peacefully snoozing blonde.

"But I promised him… he isn't meant to sleep, I promised…" Trowa mumbled a little incoherently, as the doctor eased him off the bed and towards his own.

"Now now, I think we need to check your drugs dosage, Barton. Don't you go getting hysterical on me too. Get back to bed and get plenty of rest and you'll be…"

The doctor paused as he lowered Trowa to the bed, pulling back his hands as he felt something warm and wet on them.

Blood.

The doctor withdrew his hands fully, staring at them incredulously. His hands were soaked in it, it was dripping off his fingertips and soaking into his white sleeves. He looked back to Trowa, his eyes for the first time in the dim light finding the source – two massive wounds, one either side of his spine…

"NURSE!!"

***

To Be Continued.


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